Ancalimon stepped out of the house, into Dvarni and looked around. Similar, yet different. Gone was the city of his youth, thriving and multicultural, now almost every face he saw was Elven of some kind. Gone too were the High Elf families with their hired guards entourage, the great buildings of their ancestral houses - it seemed a city-destroying disaster followed by the near end of the world had levelled everyone. It was crowded - but it would be, if everyone was crammed into a dome. Evidently this would teach him to appreciate the personal space and quiet of his Island home.

***************

He wandered from inn to inn, but all were full. People paid for their families, let their friends stay for free, found jobs for their children. No time, no help for strangers, as was to be expected in a time of scarcity: what charity there was was reserved for those you cared about. He saw the truth of this, undeniable; and yet still needed somewhere to sleep on his visit here. It was late at night before it came to him, standing outside the temple of Firin...

****************

The next day, he arose early and put on his best clothes. Imported from Dvarni, before the glooms came. Maybe fashions had moved on since then, but there was not much to be done about it now. After making a few enquiries, he found out what he needed - the time that the High King held court. Time then, to see what kind of missionary he would prove to be.

That evening, Ancalimon headed back to his rooms in the Temple of Firin to change, then onwards to the Font of Power and Knowledge.

And from the instant he stepped into the gates, suddenly everything happend - it seemed - in a blur. A professors' suite, with attached laboratory and office. Lectures to plan. An entire library and access to it. New duties and obligations. Several hours of the evening spent planning, and the next day two trips - with escorts - to the Island, to return with cuttings, pots, equipment, money, notes, clothes, possessions, mementos, shrines, books, books, plants, bottles - and then the rest of the day brewing. Several vials and bottles to the King, some flasks and a very specific plant to the temple of Firin. Unasked for - forgotten by him in the rush - samples from all the wells in and around Dvarni appeared in his room, thoughtfully and thoroughly marked with their locations, the peoples that used them, and statistics about the areas. Documents: formal acceptance of a position at the Font; old laws, news laws; inheritance laws; listings of potential students and records of the dead.

As he expected, House Vanylmede were all listed as either Dead or Missing. In another time he would have been sad, but now he was freed from the lies of hope, free to see the truth for what it was, simply accept it.He smiled; he was dead as well. Apparently they'd found his body in his old school dormitary. Well, that suited. In time he would make a new House of his own; a reward for his service.

But for now, there was a lot of work to be done. He turned his attention to the well samples.